


Connie of the Bayou

by Master_of_the_Boot1



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Bayou, Cannibalism, Chaos, Death, F/M, Game: Resident Evil 7, Horror, Inspiration, Murder, Violence, rednecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_of_the_Boot1/pseuds/Master_of_the_Boot1
Summary: While she was supposedly away at Space Camp, Connie was actually fighting for her life against a family of cannibals in the Louisianna bayou.Get ready for darkness and thrills as she does battle against the sadistic Fletcher family.Heavily inspired by Resident Evil 7
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the Steven Universe movie. 
> 
> Steven is dealing with PTSD, but so is Connie. So she and he do some trauma bonding

Connie of the Bayou: Chapter 1

Author’s note: This story contains graphic violence and chaos. It is heavily inspired by resident evil 7. Please read and review.

_Delmarva, Beach City,_

Connie let Steven destroy everything. After all that happened, she was sad to see him grab MC Bear-Bear and just rip his head off before stomping his stuffed guts out onto the floor. Next, Steven grabbed Ranger Guy and tossed his beloved action figure into the burning fireplace. With athletic ease honed from practice with Pearl, Steven flipped over the coffee table, ripped the curtains from the rods and threw a stray chair through a window.

When the anger had coursed through his system, Steven stormed out the front of the house and stomped down the porch. Connie followed after, him, her bald head glistening in the muggy summer.

Jamie the mailman was out delivering his packages, when he saw Steven. The contorted, agonized look of rage splayed across Steven’s face stopped him from saying hello. Snorting and grunting, Steven tore off his pink letterman jacket and ripped it in half. “FUDGE!” Steven screamed as he hurled the two halves of his jacket towards the ocean and kicked over the mailbox.

Jamie stood with pale face, jaw dropped as Steven ran off towards the light house. Ronaldo tried to stop Steven and ask him about how he felt about White Genocide and the Rothschilds controlling the world’s gold supply.

In response, Steven grabbed Ronaldo by the hair and screamed into his face. “If you don’t futz off right now, I’ll rip your stupid hair off and go diahrrea in your wounds!”

Rightfully, Ronaldo shit his pants and waddled off as fast as he could.

“Egads!” Peridot exclaimed to herself, “Steven is broken! Huddle closer, friends; we must find him, tie him up and then inject tranquilizers into his scrotum. I have been preparing for this moment since before my redemption.”

“I wouldn’t.” Lapis muttered under her breath.

“That’s going to make everything worse,” said Connie to the duo, adjusting her eye patch and eyeglasses. “Steven has got a lot of problems and the last thing he needs is for us to trigger his flight or fight responses.”

“I pay a Pearl to beat me up and piss in my mouth when the PTSD becomes too much,” Lapis deadpanned.

“Oh Lapis, that is disgusting!” Peridot gagged.

“Eh, let’s wait before we pay sex workers to pee on Steven,” Connie cautioned. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea but I don’t think he needs that yet.”

“Here’s her card,” Lapis handed Connie a hand drawn business card with a scantily clad Pearl on it. “Go to little Homeworld and ask for Scum Pearl. She’ll do you good.” The blue laconic gem actually chuckled. “I think I might go for a little spanking therapy with Scum-Pearl, if you know what I mean.”

“You have fun, I’ll go talk to Steven.” Connie assured her gem friends. “I know him, and if nothing else I can suggest a good psychologist for him.”

Lapis and Peridot flew off together. Leaving Connie to go find Steven.

The walk wasn’t long but it wasn’t easy either. Responding to an alarm on her wrist watch, Connie dry swallowed a pill from a bottle in her purse. The pills helped with the nightmares. If anything, she could probably relate to what Steven was going through. Especially after what had happened at Space camp.

“Space camp,” she muttered to herself, “No it’s time to stop lying.”

Finding Steven was a sorry sight and it broke her heart. He was lying in the sand with just his underwear, eyes puffy from crying. He sniffed and looked up at her with those adorable star eyes. “I got angry to feel good,” he sputtered, wiping snot from his face with the back of his hand. “I’ve been so numb and when I’m not numb I’m afraid. I keep dreaming of White tearing my gem out. I keep dreaming of Jasper and even Peridot trying to kill me.”

“That’s PTSD,” he told him, “Can I sit down next to you?”

“Yes,” he wailed.

Plopping down on the sand, Connie took a deep breath. “When I was at Space camp last summer, I actually wasn’t. I shaved my head because stress from PTSD was making me compulsively cut my hair; so it’s easier to just shave it all off.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steven asked. Sniffing.

“That depends,” Connie asked him, “Will it make you feel better?”

He nodded, “Yes, when other people can’t do the thing suddenly I can do the thing and help them do it.”

She nodded, “Okay, but tell me if it becomes too much or you need to break.”

“If I want cookies, can we go and get some together?” his voice was so small, she almost burst out crying.

“Yes, but only if you’re up to putting clothes back on,” she cautioned him.

“That’s okay with me,” he answered. “So go on, what really happened at Space Camp.”

Connie nodded, as a panic attack threatened to overcome her. She’d had nearly half a year of therapy and a powerful rainbow of drugs to help her but it was still happening. Her muscles were numb, like her heart had stopped but she wasn’t dead. It felt like hearing her mother tell her that she didn’t love her anymore.

It felt like the secret fear that Steven would stop loving her.

Her vision was narrowing and her breaths were becoming shallow. “Okay,” she faked sounding normal. It was easy. She could see how Steven pulled it off. Putting on a mask was infidelity preferable to showing her inner fear of her world falling apart. She didn’t have this thing where she needed to help. She wasn’t like Steven.

But she could do this.

“It started when on the way to Space Camp in Florida, our bus hit an improvized explosive device.”

* * *

_Dulvey, Louisiana, One Year Ago_

Connie gasped with pain as rusty staples punched through her skin and into her flesh. Eyes snapping open, she was met with darkness. For a heart pounding moment, she thought she might be dead and this was hell. No such luck for her as another staple drove into her arm where it had been blown off.

Wait, blown off?

The memories came back to her as she remembered travelling to space camp. It was supposed to be fun. A welcome break away from the gem madness she’d been part of. There was so much to do. As much as she loved Steven, the Earth was her home and her roots were there. So it was to her shock that while driving near a podunk town called Dulvey, a road side bomb blew up the bus like this was early two thousands Iraq.

There was light here, from a single ancient lightbulb that was probably older than she was. The flickering, swaying light illuminated one of her schoolmates; Mandy. Mandy had always been annoying but even her presence couldn’t take away the joy that Connie felt for Space Camp.

Mandy probably wouldn’t be able to bother Connie anymore, as her eyes popped nearly out of her head and flies crawled across her cold flesh. As her vision adjusted to the dim light, Connie got a pretty good view of the meat hook that Mandy hung from. Every few seconds, a drip of blood could come from her missing right leg.

Much as she tried to stay calm and logical, there was an overflowing animal panic as she looked down and saw that the missing leg had been chopped up and placed inside a crock pot of all things.

Another staple punched into her arm and brought her to the present. “Fuck!” she screamed.

“It’s alright,” said a voice with a gentle Louisiana twang. “I got the honey in your wound, your arm will reattach.”

Connie gasped as she beheld a pale boy with a slicked up pompadour hairstyle. “My arm? What happened to my arm?” She glanced down and wished she hadn’t.

The boy sighed and pointed to where he’d attached her severed left arm with construction stapler. “You got mashed but good in the bomb. I dragged you from the burning bus when Mamma and Papa took the rest of the survivors into the sheep and pig trailer.” The boy laughed. “I’m just glad that you speak English, cause I don’t speak no Spanish.”

Connie narrowed her eyes at the boy, as feeling started to return to her severed limb. Her body shifted on the dirty blankets, “Honey? What are you talking about? Why am I in a barn? What did you do to the rest of the girls? Where’s Jeff and what do you mean I speak English, you dickhead?”

Whatever this honey was, it made the pain receptors in her arm come to life again. “Fuck!” she repeated. It was at this time she noticed that she was fully naked. With her good arm, she grabbed the boy and held him close.

“If you touched me I swear I will kill you!” she seethed at him.

The boy’s gentle eyes widened and his plump limp turned down in sadness. “I had to get you naked like a Jaybird. Your body was full of shrapnel from Jojo’s bomb and I needed to get the honey in all the right spots. I even gave one of them fancy Smart watches; it’ll tell you where the rest of the girls are, while they’re still alive.”

He pointed to a heap of cheap Walmart clothes next to the straw bales. “I got you some of Jojo’s old hand me downs. I think they’ll—

“Elvis Martin Fletcher!” shouted a deep female voice with a savage southern lit. “Get your faggot ass back in the house before I rip your fucking nuts off!”

The boy, Elvis, visibly flinched and tears started to stream down his cheeks. “Coming, mama!” he shouted back. He then looked at Connie sadly, “You hurry, the rest of the girls are in the guest house in the cellar. I gots to go, good luck.”

Elvis turned and ran towards the house. While a blue streak of swear words came from this unseen mamma.

Connie exhaled.

She was alone. She was bare ass nude and she had an Apple Watch.

“Just great.” She smirked to herself. “Wish I brought the Rose Quartz sword.”

Well if wishes were fishes then she’d still be fucked.

Dragging herself up, Connie felt sticky. She was definitely covered in honey. But there was no way that honey should have been able to heal the twenty odd holes in her body. Ugly, pink keloid scars peppered her stomach and torso and one of her boobs was a total write off. Nasty as it looked, she was alive and there was something strange going on here.

“Okay,” She tried to pep herself up. “Step one, find the girls. Step two, find a phone. Step three escape. Sounds good.”

Getting up, she started to throw on the ugly, overly tight clothes.

“Show time,” she hissed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie tells Steven about her descent into the depths of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains graphic imagery of male rape, don't read if you don't like this.

Connie of the Bayou: Part 2

Author’s note: Incredible violence and some slurs ahead. Be warned.

The woman swung the machete upwards at the man, chopping into his crotch. The crude, blocky graphics certainly didn’t impress; but the scream of high pitched agony from the video game enemy sounded all too real and all too terrifying.

That should have been the end of it but the player character sawed her machete upwards, slicing through flesh and cutting the tendons holding the pubic bone together. While the enemy character gave a sickeningly realistic scream of torment, the player character have a nonchalant grunt.

It still wasn’t the end as the blocky, pixellated woman ripped the saw from the crotch of the pixellated police officer and slashed his throat open. A wet, muddy gurgling replaced screams as the computer game enemy went face down.

“Yes!” Connie shouted, holding her hands up in triumph. “You’re not man enough to fuck with Jane Carter! You’re not man enough to stand against me!”

“Oh!” Steven held his cheeks to his face, his eyes full of stars. “Super-Murder! That was amazing, Connie!”

“That’s why _Vengefulness_ is one of my favourite games,” Connie smiled, getting her hands back on the mouse and keyboard. Skilfully, she took her character through the shadows as two more cops appeared to find the shredded body of their compatriot. “This game used to scare me; which is weird since I’ve always been so detached from video game violence. Now it’s a catharsis machine for me.”

On the screen, a cutscene activated as the character Jane Carter went through a rusted chainlink gate, only to be captured by gas mask wearing mercenaries. No music played, just dismissive voices over radio chatter and oppressive thundering as Jane was loaded into a van and hauled off.

“Jane Carter doesn’t feel pity, fear or remorse,” Connie went on as the cutscene played with looming shadows and urban ambience; dogs barking, car alarms and a diesel engine. “She’s less human than the pedophiles, serial killers, hitmen, dirty cops and gang members who stand between her and freedom.”

As the spoke, the voice of the sinister director, the game’s main antagonist came over a static ridden old radio. _“Beautiful, Jenny old girl! You sliced that pig like a Chinese butcher! I nearly came just watching you. I didn’t think you had it in you, my little chickadee; but if you keep giving me money shots like that you’re a free broad!”_

“ Will you tell me more about your time in the evil farm?” Steven asked hesitantly.

“Are you still seeing the counsellor that my mother recommended?” Connie asked hesitantly

“I’m still sad and angry, I still turn pink,” Steven explained, “I wake up crying sometimes. But I’m getting help. I can’t do it all alone. I’m grateful for the help.” His large, sad eyes told her a story. Her heart broke.

She took a deep breath as the game finished loading and the next level of _Vengefulness_ began. “Well, hold onto your socks, Steven (not literally,) this story only gets better from here.”

* * *

_Dulvey Louisiana, One year ago_

The sun turned blood red as Connie ran across the forest trail. From the barn with the strange boy, she tried to follow the apple watch around her newly reattached arm. If the map was anything to go by, there were human signatures not far from here.

Around her the air was thick with biting insects, mosquitoes and worse. She slapped at her exposed skin. There was no time for minor discomforts. Surviving a roadside bomb had a way of putting things into perspective. She was burning daylight and those girls could still be alive but not for much longer.

She had a few options, ahead of her was a large greenhouse whose crumbling and broken glass panes were decorated with plastic baby dolls. Inside the greenhouse, Connie could just make out what looked like bee hives.

Besides that, there was a large house on stilts set out in the middle of the bayou. Fearsome alligators lay on the surface of the water; retiring for the night but there was no way that Connie was going to try and risk their wrath. The walkway leading to the swamp house looked about as safe as a back alley syringe.

Besides that there seemed to be a funhouse built here. There were Christmas lights everywhere as well as bright and cheery pop music blaring from within. A large sign crudely scrawled _“Keep the fuck out_ ” sent a message to would be trespassers. So too did the giant steel door and half dozen locks designed to keep the funhouse secure until it was time for happy joy joy time.

Closest was a gigantic main house that must have dated back to before the civil war. The place was nice but had seen better days. Much like the Swamp House and the Greenhouse, it was a dilapidated shithole festering with black mould and in no way fit for human habitation. Candles around the windows cast light; someone was inside. Someone like the mysterious Mamma and papa.

Last but maybe least was a guest house.

It looked new, fresh paint and door hinges that weren’t rusted to high shit. Time was running short and there was one signature inside. Maybe the first sign that should have made her scared was that the front door of the guest house wasn’t locked.

Inside, the guest house was starting to lose its charm. A large pot of . . . something had been left out for the cockroaches; which scuttled in and out from under the lid. Connie winced but put aside her monkey inherited fear of bugs. Around her, a tiny guest kitchen featured a refrigerator stuffed to the brim wit ha giant black garbage bag.

Peeking from the inside of a microwave, the wing of a dead crow told Connie very clearly that the owners of the home weren’t all there. A heap of old newspapers gave her some insights into the local history. “Squadron of Canadian soldiers still missing; Commanding officer found dead in Bayou.”

Curiosity was one of her dominant natures and Connie couldn’t help herself. “Tourists from New Orleans missing; Police still searching for leads.”

Looking up, she stopped herself. “Never mind the news, find a gun,” She was in the south. There had to be a gun somewhere on the property. If she was unlucky, the guns would be under lock and key. If she was lucky there would be dozens of assault rifle type weapons just laying around with plenty of ammo left for anyone to steal.

Sprinting to what might have been a smoking room, Connie saw a desk with a drawer open. Inside the drawer she could make out a piece of paper. Pulling it out, Connie began to read.

_I’m the luckiest man on earth. When Clarissa smiles at me, my heart melts. When she eats my food, she looks at me like I’m the only man on earth. I love her power and her strength. When we make love her hands cradle me and I feel whole. When I’m caring for our first born child, Elvis, I feel like I’m the richest man in the world._

_I could never have done anything to deserve my wife or my family. To think only a year ago I was fresh out of University and today I have everything I could have ever desired._

_If the devil himself offered me all the power and riches of the world’s nations, I could turn him down because nothing in this universe can even come close to my family._

_\--Signed, Cletus Josiah Fletcher, June, 2001_

It was interesting but gave Connie nothing. She was falling to her bookworm weakness.

“Hah!” she gasped. Seeing a Glock pistol and a clip of ammo. “Yes! Yes!” she cried. Shoving the magazine into the pistol, she heard a click and flicked off the safety. “Fuck yes!”

Jubilation filled her eyes and her face.

It took almost thirty seconds before the coldness touched her.

Even in the muggy Louisiana night, she could feel herself shivering.

Something was wrong.

Something was amiss.

Turning around slowly, she heard no foot steps and no doors creaked a warning.

But there was a boy in a Hitler Youth Uniform.

The youth with bright blue eyes and blonde hair was Hitler’s perfect little bitch boy; the inheritor of the bastard Reich and pretender of the Holy Roman Empire and the First German Empire.

The boy leered at Connie, grabbing his crotch and thrusting his hips forward.

The sight of that arrogant little shit in his fucking stupid short shorts and Swastikas enraged Connie. Part of her wanted to take back the symbols of her Sanskrit heritage and shove them sideways up that kid’s ass.

_**Bang!** _

The gun went off—

And the boy popped like a soap bubble.

Scanning around, Connie saw that that Nazi boy was gone, vanished like smoke in the wind.

“Shit! Shit!” she cried out as she saw lights go up in the main house.

A scream from the cellar interrupted her.

Caught between her need to be a hero and her need to survive. Connie chose the former.

Running as fast as she could she found an open door that led to a deep down root cellar.

Flicking on an old light bulb she saw him.

“Jeff!” she gasped.

He cried out in despair, chained and naked against a large wooden post. Nude, genitals smeared with female fluids and face covered with lipstick marks he wept openly. “I wish you couldn’t see me like this.” He shivered in the cold of the cellar, sitting in a pool of mud and brackish water.

“I’m here to free you, Jeff,” she promised him.

“I don’t want you to look at me!” Jeff cried.

Her hand reached to his shackles but he recoiled from her touch like it was red hot. “Don’t hurt me, please, mommy!” he screamed.

Connie bit her lip, “Look away,” she warned him. Turning the gun against the chains, she pressed the barrel against the links of the old nineteenth century shackles.

A bang and a shatter of steel let her know he was loose. Jeff’s arms fell to his sides and his hands raised to his face as he wept openly. “I’ve been a bad boy. I deserve my pain.” he sobbed.

He was crushed, Connie wanted to weep with him. “Come on, Jeff, we’ll get you out of here and rescue the others.”

“No!” he begged her, grabbing at her shirt. “Mommy is coming! Werner let her know that you’re here! They’ll do bad things to you. They’ll do to you what they did to me,” he broke down crying.

“Jeff come on!” she tried to grab him. “Let me help you!”

That’s when things went sideways.

Jeff’s head snapped up so quickly he broke his own neck. Head dangling on a brutal, unnatural angle, he leered at Connie with the face of the Evil Dead. “ _I warned you, whore!”_ He bellowed with demonic vigour.

The scream in Connie’s throat was cut off as she was grabbed by the throat. The gun in her hand went off, firing a bullet directly into Jeff’s heart . . . and doing absolutely nothing.

With the strength of devils, Jeff threw Connie back up the stairs. She screamed as she smashed through the old, open door and landed on a couch. Creaking wooden boards signified that Connie had broken the sofa, but not her spine.

She’d lost the gun in the scuffle, but there was a big brass statue with a Civil War Cavalry sabre. In less time than it took to catch her breath, Jeff was up the stairs; his face twisted into devilish glee with yellow, broken teeth and his hard cock promising a lot of non consensual fun for her.

Jeff lunged at her like an alcoholic zombie. Her reflexes and training with Pearl kicked in as Connie spun out of the way. Jeff’s hands ripped through the sofa, shredding through the fabric and padding.

Crawling as fast as she could, Connie heard the sound of claws ripping through hardwood behind her. Not looking back, she jumped at the statue and knocked it over.

Jeff pounded on Connie like a starving dog to meat.

And found his match.

The cavalry sabre caught his belly and went through his liver, kidneys and spine.

Fully driven to survival and attack, Connie kicked Jeff off of her. The sword in his belly made him shriek with pain. Connie would not let him have any respite. Grabbing a heavy brass horse statue, she jumped upon Jeff and started smashing his face in.

Blood and teeth splattered all over her and one of Jeff’s eyeballs popped out.

She lost track of how many times she caved in his skull with a heavy piece of metal when she got a good look at Jeff’s sad, soul destroyed eyes.

“I’m sowwy,” he gargled his own blood and spat out the half of his tongue he’d bitten in half. “I desewve to die.” He coughed and his head fell backwards. In the moment of death he’d ceased being a demon and turned back into the human he once was.

Connie didn’t say anything. She puked, vomit running all over herself.

The sword had been something noble to her, something mythical.

She was no knight.

She was a monster. She was more a monster than Jeff had been; he’d been controlled by some outside force. She was a pathetic piece of shit who deserved to die. It should have been her that was dead and bleeding on the floor, not Jeff.

God.

Jeff was raped, tortured and possessed by some kind of demonic force and Connie killed him.

She started to ask herself what Steven would do began to cry openly. She asked God to take away her sins. She got her wish.

A powerful, calloused hand grabbed her by the back of her neck and held her high like a little kitten.

A powerfully built farmer woman in coveralls grinned at her with yellow smoker’s teeth. “Welcome to the family, girl,” the woman drawled.

“Ah!” Connie screamed as the woman punched her in the face. Everything went white and she began to spit up her own teeth.

The last thing that Connie saw was of Momma Fletcher raise up her giant, heavy work boot and stomp on her face.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the present, Connie shows Kink acceptance. 
> 
> In the past, Connie goes for Sunday dinner with a pack of psycho cannibals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains racist slurs, domestic violence and cannibalism. 
> 
> Please be warned.

Connie of the Bayou: Part 3

_Beach City, Steven’s house._

“Hey Steven,” Connie greeted, the mid day sun glinting off her shaved head, “When did you start carrying a pacifier?”

In response, Steven sucked twice on a pink Winnie the Pooh themed soother and pulled it from his mouth. There he let it dangle from the connective pink ribbon clipped to the front of his pink one piece pyjamas. “I got this yesterday from the pharmacy.”

Connie noticed something else. “I see the dinosaur toys are new. When did you get those?”

Steven held up the plastic T-Rex who was dutifully watching him prepare peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “This is Theodore Rex. I got him yesterday at a yard sale. I also got a half dozen other dinosaurs; the rest of the dino family are in the living room if you want to meet them.”

Connie put on an air of sophistication and looked Steven over. “I like your onsie. I gotta ask, are you wearing a diaper?”

Steven nodded enthusiastically. “Yup, I got Pearl to put it on for me. I feel crinkly and safe in this. I have one on in case I have an accident when I have to go potty.”

Connie took the whole thing in stride and asked. “So, asking respectfully as your jam bud, what’s this new thing. I’ve never seen this side of you?”

Steven shrugged as he plated the peanut butter and J sandwiches and carefully cut the crusts off the bread. “Well, I’ve always had this part of me. Remember when I turned into a baby and you thought I was a zygote? Well that was always a part of me.”

“I don’t quite follow, Steven,” Connie said as she sat her duff down on the couch. Her jam bud dutifully placed the plate of childish sandwiches on the coffee table.

Steven shrugged as he hugged his toy dinosaur and doubled up on the cuteness with a ragged old second hand teddybear. “This is Elmo the Bear, I got him at the same Yard Sale as the dinosaurs.” He laughed and he looked more free and happy than she’d seen him in year. “Turns out there’s a name for this. It’s called Littles. I am part of the time, a child, a kid. I’m a kid. When the world feels big, brutal and and mean, I go back to a smaller time when everything is simpler neat and happy. My world as a Little is Full of apple juice, Dog Copter and Chicken Nuggets.”

There was sniffing as Connie wiped tears from here eyes. “I’m really happy for you.” She paused as she wiped her face. “The last time I saw you like this was when we first met on the beach. You look happy.”

Steven nodded, “Yeah, at first I was scared that you wouldn’t accept me.”

“Jam bud for life,” Connie smiled.

“Would you be my Big?” Steven asked. “That’s when a Little has a grownup in their life. It’s not a role, like being a diamond; it’s who I am. It’s rooted in my human self.”

Connie felt a tension in her chest. For a moment she felt pure, existential terror. The idea of being there for Steven, something she’d always taken for granted was now the most terrible thing in the universe. Her skin turned ash color and she had to slow her breathing.

She hadn’t notice him come over to her and put his hand on hers. “Connie,” he said in a childish voice, “Elmo wants to give you a hug, he gives me hugs when I’m sad or mad.”

He held out the bear for her, making it a do a little dance. But her stone cold heart wasn’t ready when he started making voices for the bear. “ _Hey Connie, it’s okay to be scared. I’m not scared of anything. I’ll protect you from anything!”_

The stuffed bear seemed to take on a life of its own. His little stuffy arms seemed to banish the coldness from Connie’s heart. She sniffed again as she was on the verge of breaking down in tears. “Well, Elmo, if it’s okay with you, maybe I can tell Steven a scary story. The story of how I got out of the Bayou of the Crazy Fletcher Family. Kid friendly of course.”

“ _Of course Connie! I’ll protect you and Steven from any ghosts and goblins!”_ the bear responded with enthusiasm.

Steven popped the pacifier in his mouth and cuddled the bear up to his chest, while Theodore Rex Stood guard over their sandwiches.

Connie spread her hands and prepared to bare her inner most demons in a family friendly fashion. “Well, I woke up not knowing who or what had hit me, sitting at a dinner table with the most outrageous villains you could possibly imagine.”

_Dulvey, Louisiana, 1 year ago_

Connie knew she wasn’t dead when someone threw a soda can at her head. The sharp pain through her skull was irritating, but if she were dead she wouldn’t be alive to feel it. She also knew she wasn’t dead when her nose caught the smell of roasting pork.

She was still blind, her eyes were gummed shut.

Snapping them open, she got a good look at the family dinner from hell that greeted her.

The giant southern woman that sucker punched her sat at the head of the table. Like many southern matrons, she ran her household with an iron fist. She was the queen of this fucked up court. The woman wrapped her lips around a bottle of Jack Daniels and started chugging like it was grape juice.

“She’s awake, Clarissa!” sang a soft, high pitched male voice.

The father of this fucked up family looked at Connie with glassy eyes. Half of his attention was on her, half of his attention was on the dancing elves behind Connie. Maybe the meth pipe sitting next to his dinner plate had something to do with his state of mind. Subconsciously, he began to grind his yellowed teeth together loudly. Right before he snatched a cockroach off the table cloth and ate it.

Connie winced at the crunching coming from his mouth, from those bleeding lips. Once upon a time he might have been handsome, cute even. Now he was a wrecked shell of a human being playing a parody of fatherhood.

“The little Mexican is awake!” jeered a nigh pitched, female voice. A girl with red pigtails grinned evily at Connie, picking up a chunk of unidentified, grey meat from her plate and throwing it her.

She flinched as the meat splattered her in the face. While Connie squirmed against the shackles in her chair, she noticed that her one arm was undone; the arm that Elvis had reattached was free. In front of her was something that looked and smelled like a pile of human intestines. In front of her was . . . “Jeff?” Connie squeaked.

Jeff say on a big platter, cooked golden brown with an apple shoved into his mouth. Already, the mother of the family had ripped one of his legs off and thrown it onto her plate; washing her mouth and cleansing her palette with cheap whisky.

The father chided his daughter playfully, “Now Jojo, don’t go throwing around the food. Daddy worked hard to cook that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Cletus,” ordered the mother as she slammed down the whisky bottle.

“you got it, Clarissa dearest,” Cletus cheerfully agreed.

“Jeff?” Connie repeated at the sight of the boy who she’d tried to save. “Jeff.” She whispered his name. Everything was numb. Her brain had shut down. She wished she was dead.

Then the pig tail wearing dipshit threw a chunk of intestines at her.

Jojo’s high pitched tittering was like broken glass inside Connie’s ears. “Hey! Untie me and try that again you stinking whore!”

Cletus laughed as he began to carve slices of Jeff and delicately put them on his plate next to the half rotted human brains and mashed potatoes. Another cockroach scuttled across his dinner plate and a few more crawled from under his shirt but he ignored them. Unlike other meth users, bugs across his skin didn’t seem to bother him a bit.

“If you come over here I’ll give you some Doritos!” Jojo taunted, throwing another piece of intestine at Connie. Jojo’s fun was short lived.

Clarissa’s eyes flashed with rage. She took her half empty bottle of Jack and smashed it across her daughter’s face. Jojo screamed as multiple pieces of broken glass drove into her pale face. The Fletcher matriarch leaned back in her chair and started guzzling down the Jeff meat before her. Jojo sobbed and screamed as she tried to pull the glass shards from her eyes.

The act of casual violence form Mama Fletcher made Connie recoil. Jasper had threatened to kill her and Connie had died nearly half a dozen times on adventures with Steven. But no threat on her old gem journeys had possessed the banality of evil that Mama Fletcher had. Violence for her was as natural as breathing and just as meaningless.

“Eat it, senorita,” Cletus sang to her, one of his eyes drifting forty five degrees off from the other, “It’s very good. I don’t have the spices they do in Mexico, but we in Louisiana like it hotter than most gringos. You should see my gumbo. And you haven’t lived until you’ve tried Creole and Cajun food.” Blood from his lips stained his yellow teeth as a random spider started crawling across his upper lip. Unlike the cockroach he chose not to eat it, but simply allowed the arachnid to crawl up into his hair.

“That little bitch wouldn’t know good if it hit her!” Jojo jeered as she threw her whole plate at Connie.

“Now Jolene Michelle Fletcher,” Cletus laughed sweetly, “I raised you better than that. Say sorry to our guest.”

“You wanna fucking go! Let’s go, white girl!” Connie shouted at the bony teenager who was taunting her.

Mama Fletcher was a hell of a lot less forgiving than her husband. Without saying a word, she grabbed the fuck off big Bowie knife from her belt and pulled it loose. Grabbing her daughter’s arm, she drove the point of the knife through her elbow joint.

Jojo screamed as her mother began sawing through the arm like a pork tenderloin. “God damn it, mama! Not again!” She screamed as she pulled away a bleeding stump.

“Not again!?” Connie cried out as the severed arm landed on the dinner table and began twitching.

“Don’t worry, Cletus,” Clarissa drawled, “I’ll make sure Sir Mexicano eats,” she laughed as she pushed her chair pack.

Connie recoiled in her seat.

Something raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Turning around she saw . . . it.

A flayed human body, nailed to a wheelchair and held in position by rusty sheet metal gazed with dead eyes. Right upon her. Against her will she screamed.

As she did, Clarissa flinched. The giant southern matriarch gasped and then clenched her knife, the momentary fear in her eyes replaced with renewed hatred. “God damn it, Werner; you spook me like that one more time and I’m locking you in the fucking cellar.”

In response, the flayed body spurted blood in a few places as the eyes lazily closed.

Clarissa scoffed. “That’s right, put a little pressure on and the paper tiger fucking folds.”

Connie couldn’t take her eyes of off the Hellraiser meat sculpture next to her that was against all reason and logic, still alive.

“Now girl, open your fucking craw hole,” grunted Clarissa. “A girl’s gotta eat. A girl’s gotta be a good guest.”

Mamma Fletcher carved one of Jeff’s smoking, crispy ears off and put it in her hand. Without even waiting, she shoved into Connie’s gaping mouth.

It was . . . soul rape. Being violated by human flesh was the more ancient and more long held taboo of humanity. Here in this house of sin, Connie felt like her mind and body were being raped. This was horrible. It was beyond rape as she tasted the flesh of her once good friend.

She spat it out and put herself in a greater world of pain than she’d ever been.

“Oh shit!” screeched Cletus, bony hands flying to his face and the insects on his body all scattering at once. “She’s not eating it! She’s not eating it! The girl’s not eating it! She’s not eating! She’s not eating!”

The chatter came fast and senseless, endless repetition. Like a siren warning or the barking of a dog. It was less human speech and more the instinctual shrieks of some jungle beast. The high pitched ululations would have been right at home in some long lost rain forest where saplings grew from human skeletons and hungry mouths prowled the undergrowth.

In response to this animal chattering, Clarissa responded with a brutal hand and even more savage heart. “Shut your fucking sewer, Cletus!” she screamed, tossing her husband’s plate to the floor with a crash. “What the fuck did I tell you about raising your voice near me?!”

“I MADE IT FOR HER! I MADE IT! I MADE IT I MADE IT I MADE IT I MADE—

A sledgehammer blow to the stomach knocked him to his knees. On the other side of the table, Jojo tittered as she tried to pick her severed arm up.

“Get your stinking ass out of my sight, NOW!” Clarissa bellowed, thrusting her knife at the door.

“You’re a cunt!” Cletus shrieked back, retreating like a beaten dog. “You’re an ungrateful cunt!” He scuttled out of the room, doubled over with shame and rambling like a man possessed. “All Cunts! All of you, ungrateful Cunts!”

Connie didn’t even see the last of Papa Fletcher before Mama grabbed her by the hair and pulled her in close. Breath reeking of booze and roadkill filled her nostrils and made her gag. Much as she tried, she couldn’t even budge Mama Fletcher’s iron grip.

Her coiffed, well combed hair flew out of place and blood drool ran down her chin. Bugging eyes and chipped rage teeth formed the most noticeable parts of Clarissa’s face. “You went and ruined Sunday Dinner, you little wet back! I’m going to take it out on your ass!”

The point of the knife came up slowly like the head of an adder. Squeaking, Connie struggled against her shackles but it was an exercise in futility.

“This is all your fault!” growled Clarissa, her eyes turning red with rage. The blood vein in her temple pulsed to the point of bursting. “When you’re under my roof you follow my roof. When you break the rules I break out my tools.” The point of the knife was almost touching Connie’s corneas as Mama Fletcher’s heavy panting filled the world. “I don’t want to remove this but you’re making me!”

_Ring-Ring!_

Connie gasped with terror as Mama Fletcher let go of her hair and recoiled.

“Who the hell is that?” barked Ma Fletcher.

“That’s probably the pizza man!” Jojo laughed like a clown. “I wanted them special pizzas with the gluten free crust!” She giggled like a harlequin as her mother started her down.

“You ordered a pizza—gluten free—on special feast day—oh you stupid piece of shit,” Clarissa growled in rapid order. Her body went stuff and then all of the sudden she kicked over Cletus’s chair. Storming over to a wall, Mama raised her fist and punched out a moose head. “SON OF A BITCH!!!!”

Her thundering scream made the windows rattle and dust fall from the rafters. Rats scuttled from their holes and the moose head looked on apologetically with half of its muzzle missing.

“You, idiot, come with me,” Mama Fletcher ordered. “And bring your tools, you useless slut.”

“You got it mama!” Jojo snorted and giggled as she skipped off, swinging her missing arm like “It’s time for a Clown! Everybody loves a Clown!”

“You, stay where the fuck you are,” Clarissa hissed, thrusting her knife at Connie. “If I find you’ve moved a muscle you are going down to the cellar.”

Almost forgotten, Connie jumped when Clarissa kicked the flayed body in the wheelchair. “Don’t you back sass me, Werner!” she laughed. The body spasmed like a death rattle but there was no verbal reply.

It made Clarissa laugh. “Talk, talk, talk. Kiss me harder, you fucking kraut meat-head.”

Laughing, Clarissa took herself away, her cackling echoing behind her and staying long when she was gone.

Spiders, roaches and rats began to return to the room. Connie could barely notice as her eyes were still transfixed on Jeff’s golden brown corpse. She stared for a good long time at his crisp, taut features. The obscenity threatened to destroy her sanity and take away her will to live.

What saved her, what drove the spark of rage inside of her was the memories. The memories of her and Steven. Eating her mother’s shitty Butte chicken and enjoying it anyway. The memory that there were still four other girls around her who were going to need rescuing.

There was no handsome prince coming to save them.

There was no need.

They had a very authentic knight right here.

Grabbing a fork from the dining table, Connie grinned as she realized that the Fletchers would pay for their courtesy. “Thank you Pearl for the lock picking lessons,” she grinned as the shackles on her arm clicked open.

She glanced around for anything she could use as a weapon. There was a kitchen knife next to where her plate was as well as . . . a little bottle of honey. She glanced down at her arm, where a boy named Elvis had managed to reattach her arm with just magic honey and staples. If Zelda games had taught her anything it was that healing items were equally as important as weapons.

The honey went into her pocket.

Next to her, the flayed man watched with eyes that followed lazily.

Creeping out of the dining room, Connie held her breath and tiptoed out.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie gets dragged into a war she never knew existed. 
> 
> The danger only gets worse from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains graphic violence and mayhem. I love this

Connie of the Bayou: Part Four

Author’s note: This contains my favourite brand of extreme violence and horror. Viewer discretion is advised.

Connie looked guilty at her bowl of ice cream. Her mother did the same. Priyanka winced from her broken nose and the eighteen stitches across her forehead. The two women sat next to one another but said nothing and didn’t make eye contact.

When it came to it, Priyanka looked up at her daughter with eyes puffy from crying. “How are you, Connie?”

“I’m fine,” said Connie, looking to her mother with equally sad eyes; but she had not been able to cry like her mother had. “How are you, mom?”

“I’m scared, Connie,” said Priyanka, “I’m extremely sad.

“I’m sorry I punched you in the nose, mom” Connie’s voice cracked with sadness and remorse.

“The pain is manageable,” Priyanka’s voice was muted, like she was stuffed up with a cold. “I’m scared more than anything. I just wanted you to put down your sword and get back into tennis lessons. You always were so competitive and I thought sports would be a good way for you to work off the nervous energy you’ve had. I’ve seen you, Connie; you hardly sleep and you’re constantly on missions with the gems. More than that, you went and took on an angry mob by yourself. Tell me why I shouldn’t be terrified when a stray bullet can end you.”

Connie stirred her melting ice cream, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “I’m following the path I’m meant to. I’m sorry for lashing out at you. I hate tennis and I think it sucks and I always hated it, but punching you out wasn’t the right thing. When you hit your head on the coffee table I thought I’d killed you. I know I’m sorry but I feel like I don’t deserve you and dad’s forgiveness.”

“Connie, the reason I’m so afraid is that I don’t understand you at all,” Priyanka sniffed, wiping her nose with a napkin and turning it red. “I feel like we’ve drifted apart. I know you’re happier than you’ve ever been but it’s gotten worse since that incident in the bayou. When you came back, you’d been more hurt and wounded than you ever were on gem missions. You were like a frightened animal on the day you came back to me, you lashed out at everything and your heart rate was through the roof. You came back to me filthy and starved, wounded and scarred. Do you know how I felt when I saw that your arm had been reattached with rusty staples and magic honey? I nearly had a heart attack. You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother but when you came back from the bayou, I thought I’d failed. I hoped space camp would be a chance for you to be safe and normal but you went to hell and you’ve not changed.”

Connie felt wetness on her cheek, the first time she’d actually cried since leaving Dulvey, Louisiana. Reluctantly, she reached out and put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Touch still felt wrong. Still felt unnatural. Clenching a fist and breaking bones felt easy, pleasurable even. But the act of reassuring her mother was harder than digging a bullet from a wound and cauterizing it with a pack of matches.

The words were harder for Connie. Her brain was still stuck on permanent fear mode. Fight and still fight was all that she knew. Doing anything else was a laborious and energy consuming process that dominated most of her mind. The battle to remain civilized and quiet was like trying to beat a wolf to death with her bare hands. “Mom, you’re not a bad person or a bad mom. Mothers and daughters just naturally want to kill each other. If anything, you taught me discipline and gave me the tools to defeat my enemies. So I should be thanking you every day.”

“I didn’t want to teach you how to kill!” Priyanka raised her voice. “And no, this is not normal! Mothers and daughters are not enemies! You are not my enemy, Connie.” She stopped, panting with repressed emotion. “My mother, your grandmother Lakshmi was my enemy. She laughed when her boyfriend assaulted me and when her patients died on the operating table or overdosed on the pills she prescribed them she would laugh again. You are me are nothing like her and I. I love you and even if I’m scared I want to keep being a mother. If I had to think of you as an enemy, like my mother it would kill me. When Lakshmi died, I felt nothing but relief; joy when the lung cancer finally ended her evil fucking life. I don’t ever want to think of you as my enemy.”

“I love you mom,” Connie sniffed, a few tears leaking down her cheeks. “I’m kind of fucked up. It’s like when someone steps on a land mine; even when they get the very best plastic leg, there’s no going back. It’s not like recovering from a paper cut.”

“Then can you please stop shaving your head,” Priyanka pleaded, “I miss your hair and you looked so beautiful with hit.”

“Fuck you,” Connie snapped back.

There was a moment of silence. . . and then the pair began to laugh. Great was their laughter and long. A tension had been broken. Maybe they didn’t understand any better, maybe understanding was never the problem. Even without that, the shadow across both their faces had been lifted.

They loved each other. Maybe it wasn’t the only thing that mattered, but it was something that had never changed.

_Dulvey, Louisiana, One Year ago_

Connie skulked about the halls of the Fletcher House. Everywhere she went, she saw crumbling drywall, spiderwebs and piles of owl droppings. What was brand new were the bars on the windows. Where they weren’t bars the windows were nailed shut and boarded up. She eyed the long, rusty nails keeping the window shut and keeping her in.

“Fuck,” she hissed to herself. Keeping stealthy, she crouch walked through the darkened corridors, kept lit by a few sputtering candles that were at the end of their life.

_Crunch!_

Connie jumped and raised the kitchen knife she’d taken, dramatically ready to defend herself against any foes foreign or domestic. Looking down, she could see that she’d stepped on a dead crow. “Fuck,” she hissed as she saw that she’d gotten bird guts all over her foot.

No time for fashion statements, she turned and picked out the direction less travelled in this labyrinthine house. A small living room, with an old black and white television and a nice, antique grandfather clock. Sitting under the grandfather clock just so happened to be an old revolver and some bullets. Grinning at her good fortune, Connie grasped the big iron and started loading the cylinder. She couldn’t be sure that the ammo would work but it could be a nice intimidation weapon. Still, there was no reason for her to drop her knife.

Spinning around, she was ready to go when she saw something that shouldn’t be there.

The flayed man, Werner sat imprisoned in his wheelchair. She wasn’t sure if it was dead, alive or stuck in some horrible limbo state. Werner’s eyes flickered in their sockets but took in nothing. Connie blinked and then the bloody body nailed to a wheelchair was gone.

“So the young Turk has tried to escape, like a mouse in a trap!” laughed a malicious voice with a Teutonic tinge to it.

Whirling around, Connie saw the young Hitler youth that she’d seen in the guest house with Jeff. The jeering, blonde youth bent over and smacked his ass in its tight booty shorts. “You want to tap this? It might be the only pleasure you find before you’re condemned to hell for all eternity?”

“Hit the road, dick cheese!” Connie pointed the revolver at him. “I didn’t come here to be harassed by a horny ghost. Go bug someone else.”

The youth grinned, their face twisting into something unnatural; more like the uncanny valley of bad facial capture than anything by a human being proper. “Oh the shots are fired. The more you resist, the greater the pain will be. So resist harder!”

With a laugh, the lad was gone alone with the body of Werner the flayed man.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves. This went way beyond her usual troubles, way beyond even gem adventures. She had to be smart if she was going to survive. Cradling the revolver to her chest, she looked down and began tip toeing out of the room.

Down a long hallway with dusty, decrepit furniture moved past her. A stray mouse nearly made her fire her gun as it ran in front of her. Her footsteps were quiet but never quiet enough. There was always a little creak. Always a little noise and a little cloud of dust from the ancient carpet thrown over the ground. There was something. She cast a shadow, left a smell behind her and left footprints on the muddy carpet. Some deep instinct in her made her fear the predators who stalk in the night and hunt by smell.

Walking past a bedroom, she glanced inside, pressing herself to the wall. Spinning inside, she found herself in a . . .

In a black and white environment.

Connie’s eyes widened further as the revolver trembled in her hands. She could see a man before her.

An American soldier clad in a World War One Era Uniform snapped her a salute.

Her hand stilled as she squeezed the trigger. “Who goes there?” She blurted out. Tribute to the last short story she’d written.

It wasn’t like she knew what else to say to the man.

The black and White Doughboy kept a stiff upper lip and a strong, proud back. His Sargent stripes glinted in the strange monochrome dreamworld. “Are you ready to do your duty, soldier?” He barked out in the manner of a career soldier.

“Who the hell are you?” She was barked back.

“Sargent York’s the name!” the man refused to let down his saluting hand. “And Freedom is my game! And on this accursed farm, there’s something older than the hills, something even older than the Diamonds themselves. Meet me down in the salt mines and I’ll help you bring freedom back to these lands and kill our enemies!”

“Go to hell, GI Joe!” she retorted. “I need to rescue my friends. After that, maybe I’ll help you out on your crazy crusade. Maybe.”

Sargent York put down his saluting hand and snapped his heels together. “Go with God, Little Miss; you got vim and vinegar in you. Don’t let me down!”

And like skinless Werner, Sargent York was gone.

Connie reflected that being the chosen one sucked. She’d wandered into a war of Unfamiliar Familiars without ever being told so.

Actually it was more like the Saga of the Shield Maiden. The tale of a crazed fantasy Viking woman who was enemy number one of Ultra-Satan; doomed forever to fight, kill and suffer in the frozen anus of fantasy Scandinavia.

Fantasy comparisons for later, now she had to get the fuck out.

A sign caught her eye.

“Garage,” she smiled. A bit of good luck at last.

Following the rusty old novelty sign, she looked down an old stairwell. Glancing out the window, she could see a moonless night with miles and miles of nothing but bayou. Descending the stairs, she prayed that she wouldn’t die and break her neck from rotten wood work.

A rusty door stood between her and freedom.

Stepping through it, she peeked and saw a very out of place Ford Mustang, cherry red.

“Freeze! State Police!” a voice shouted.

Connie held her hands up. “Don’t shoot! I’ve been kidnapped! There’s girls missing on this property!”

“Put the gun down before I spread you!” shouted a man in police uniform.

As her eyes adjusted, Connie got a good look at a flabby, redneck cop. The man’s piggy eyes leered at her with hate. “What are you doing here, girl? I could kill you right now and nobody would say a word.”

Connie noticed the officer had his gun drawn. He was pointing it at her. Her mind started to wonder if she could shoot him before her shot her.

The State Cop aimed his gun higher. “I came out here for a stolen car report. Did you steal this car? I’d tell you your rights but I don’t want to let another criminal walk. We don’t need the state giving out any more plea deals to criminals.”

Connie was ready to put him down like so much barbecue bacon.

Then the garage door started closing.

The rusty old motor screamed with the effort and dusty chains scraped against each other.

The cop began to panic, his piggy eyes filling with panic. “Who did that! Did you fucking do that! Open that door now or I swear to god I’ll kill you!”

Connie pulled the trigger. Only for her gun to click.

Misfire.

Her heart sunk.

But the state cop didn’t get a chance to shoot.

Mama Fletcher tapped the State Trooper on the shoulder. The flabby policeman spun around, only to take a calloused fist to the snot box.

Blood gushing out of his broken nose, the State Trooper stumbled backwards, his sun hat falling off. Before he could hit the ground, Mama Fletcher grabbed both his wrists and twisted as hard as she could.

The murderous matriarch laughed as the trooper’s wrist bones snapped and burst through the flesh and skin. The smell of shit and piss filled the air as the trooper filled his drawers with agony fuelled animal terror.

Grabbing a rusty butcher cleaver off from out of a tool chest, Mama Fletcher swung it at the State Trooper’s neck.

Connie stood frozen as the trooper’s head was cut off so violently that his eyes popped out of their socket. Face contorted in fear, Connie got a front row look at the screaming head as it sailed through the air and landed in a trash bin.

Turning to run, she found the door to the garage had locked behind her.

“You’re a slippery rascal,” Mama Fletcher laughed. “Just like that raccoon that keeps trying to impregnate my lawn ornaments.” She cackled as she kicked the dead body of the cop, “I promise this won’t hurt!”

Taking her gun, Connie tried again and put a bullet between Mama Fletcher’s eyes.

But to her horror she only laughed. “That gun won’t work the way you think it will, senorita.”

Squeezing the trigger of the old revolver, Connie spilled blood and brains all over the killer Farm woman’s face.

Two eyeballs floated on a sea of gore and bone fragments, but despite being shot four times in the head Mama Fletcher wasn’t particularly perturbed. Her hands lovingly caressed the handle of her butcher cleaver, eager for more fresh blood.

Connie tried something else, since she wasn’t following zombie movie rules.

_Bang!_

Mama Fletcher gasped and doubled over as Connie shot her in the crotch. Evidently a bullet to the clam staggered her in a way that a headshot didn’t.

With just one bullet left in her gun, Connie needed to move fast. Luckily the Mustang still had the key in the ignition. Diving through the open car window, she moved with grace that the Dukes of Hazard could only dream of.

Sadly it wasn’t enough.

“Oh no ya don’t!” shouted Mama Fletcher, tossing Connie out of the car. “I’m fucking driving! You ever seen the Fast and Furious? Well this is Louisiana Drift!”

Grinning bloody murder, Clarissa grabbed the car door and tore it off like it was a toy. Stepping inside, she turned the ignition and revved the engine. “You better start running.” She chuckled right as she slammed on the gas.

Connie screamed as the cherry red Mustang came speeding at her. The front of the car buckled as it smashed into a tool chest and sent wrenches and nails flying everywhere. Tires screeched as the vehicle sped into reverse. Rubber burned as Clarissa slammed on the breaks, flew into first gear and started doing donuts inside the garage.

Her heart tattooed a pattern onto her ribs as Connie fought against becoming roadkill. The stench of gasoline and burning rubber covered up the smell of blood. The body of the deputy got sucked under the Mustang and became stuck under the chassis.

Mama Fletcher whooped and hollered as the dead body under her car left a giant blood smear on the concrete. The fresh blood and entrails causing the busted, dented and damaged Mustang to loose traction. A wooden crate smashed open and sticks of old dynamite fell out.

A thick concrete pillar stopped the mustang for good. The crash was as loud as canon fire and threw Connie on her ass. Landing on a fresh pool of blood, she could feeling the cooling liquid soaking into her shirt. Disgust crawled up into her throat and she began to dry heave. Picking herself up, she saw Mama Fletcher with the steering column through her chest and out her back.

A spark clicked somewhere under the Mustang. Hot golden fire spread from the leaking gas tank. And to Connie’s eternal horror, Clarissa stepped out of the car like the She-Terminator.

“Oh boy!” Clarissa roared with glee, utterly apathetic to the four hundred degree gasoline that was crisping her flesh like roast pork. “Who wants a fisting! I bet you do!”

She stomped over to Connie.

There was no thought. Nothing had prepared her for this. Connie screamed as the heat from Mama Fletcher’s burning body felt like it was going to melt her flesh off.

The heat from the burning Mustang set off the dynamite. Connie didn’t see the explosion, only felt it.

Trembling like a newborn baby, she glanced at the smouldering corpse of Clarissa Fletcher. Unknowingly, the Fletcher Matriarch had acted as a human shield for the shrapnel from the dynamite explosion.

As a bit more luck, the explosion had blown a hole in the wall of the garage. She was back where she started.

At least she wasn’t dead.

Connie began to hobble out towards the night. The very air attacked her, thick with smoke, concrete dust and what was probably atomized human. The dead cop was very likely entering her lungs like some kind of black mould infection.

Trembling, she glanced down. One hand was frozen around her revolver and the other was fumbling with a tiny bottle of the strange honey.

Dabbing the sticky liquid on her skin, the third degree burns began to heal instantly. It was like Steven’s healing spit.

But not.

There was something.

Something was wrong. The pain was leaving her. Burns instantly healed, the honey worked to repair (more slowly) hairline fractures in her hip and leg bones. It was giving her energy and she no longer felt hungry and thirsty.

But there was something to it.

Where it healed her, she felt dirty.

It wasn’t just that she was sticky. She felt _unclean_. Like what she needed was a priest.

She couldn’t focus on that anymore as a smoking hot hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

“Can I make a confession?” Asked Clarissa Fletcher through her incinerated skeleton face, “I occasionally crave Teenage pussy. Now watch this.”

Without a word, Mama Fletcher opened her jaws with an _AAAAHH!!!_

And shoved a hand grenade in her mouth. Her free hand pulled the pin.

Bullet time was a concept that Connie knew. It was something she was feeling right now. Time slowed to a crawl as the burnt, blackened and crusty farm woman waited for the bomb in her mouth to go off. She was immortal. Connie was not.

But neither of them were invulnerable.

The last bullet in Connie’s gun went off and shot Clarissa in her scorched, cooked clitoris.

It staggered her.

And with lightning reflexes, Connie threw herself away and out the hole int he garage wall.

She did see the explosion this time. She also saw the fountain of blood and meat that used to be mama Fletcher. Then she saw the legs with part of a spinal column marching zombie style out into the night.

Then they fell over.

Then Connie fell over.

Her vision went dark.

And over her loomed the face of Elvis. “Don’t die on me now,” said the fair young man. “You’ve taken the honey, but it’s not too late for you. I’ll help you.”

Connie fully blacked out as he picked her up. The limits of her endurance had been reached.

And it would not be the last time that she would be tested this night.


	5. Jojo's Incestuous Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes are raised as Connie has to fight struggle to save the hostages. 
> 
> A twisted conspiracy goes ever deeper and the nightmare isn't over by half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing demons, hell, violence and gore. 
> 
> Special thanks to anybody who read this and left a review. you're my heroes.

Connie of the Bayou: Part 5

Jojo's Incestuous Adventures

* * *

_Delmarva, Today_

“ _This is the domain of the Hell Priestess, formerly known as Abbess Angela McFife of the Land of Fife. In the Sixteenth Century she sold her soul to Ultra-Satan and has become Sister Curbstomp; the Heirophant of the Church of Villainy and the Mistress of the Dildo of Evil,” Jasper grit her teeth as she, Connie and Steven stood on the bloody sands of a gladiator arena._

_In the stands, screaming masses of zombies waved their arms and howled for blood. Flying gargoyles soared overhead on leathery wings and dropped snacks in exchange for hell-tokens; the bloody currency of the Umbral plains. In the front row, Rebecca Sugar gleefully ate a baby as she waited for the show to start._

_Connie looked at Steven, “How are you, Jam bud?” she asked him._

_Dressed up in a sexy slave girl outfit like princess Leia, Steven was defiant. For the first time in ages, there was a fire in him that would not be extinguished. “I’m good, Jam Bud. Just one thing; we fight back to back. If one of us goes down, the other promises to survive.”_

_Connie nodded as she gripped the gladius and scutum in either hand. Her sandals fit well and she couldn’t be more at ease. Most people wouldn’t be so happy being thrown into a gladiator ring with the arch gladiators of Super-Hell; but she’d already been through hell and back three or more times. “You got it, Jam bud. Jam buds to the end; in platonic and non platonic love.”_

“ _Amen, Jam bud,” Steven said as a thunderous gong rang through the arena._

_Standing up in her robes made from foreskin, Sister Cubstomp adjusted the golden crown of eyeballs on her head and raised a toilet plunger like it was sceptre of power. “You have heard the so called Tale of Steven,” she bellowed. “Everyone believes in Steven, but he is a false idol! Bastard son of a diamond and a foolish human, he is a false idol!” The Hellish Abbess gnashed her yellowed teeth and raised her toilet plunger high. “His faith is weak and ours is strong, brother, sisters and enbies! We will castrate him, mutilate him and rip his heart out!”_

_The crowds of demons roared with rage and pleasure. Brass drums thundered and powerful electric guitars played with hellish tunes to the number of the beast._

“ _We will watch as the heretic and his butt buddies are cut, torn, mutilated and shredded! We will rip and tear and as their bodies are eaten and shat out, their souls will live on and their suffering will never end!” The Priestess cackled like the Ur-Witch of every myth and legend of children devoured and eaten. Absentmindedly, she scratched her crotch under her robes with long, green claws .With that itch taken care of, she continued._

_A tormented screech of hell iron rang through the Colosseum as the trio moved into battle stance._

“ _Behold the Cyber Demon! Tyrant of Pandemonium, Slaver of the Blood Swamps of Judecca and eater of worlds!”_

_Stepping into the light, a twenty foot tall horned monstrosity stomped. Half unfeeling machine and half ravenous demon, the thing brought both a hellish blade of infernal fire and a computerized, laser guided chaingun. It’s howl of rage blended a predator’s rage and the scream of a steam whistle. Its bull like horns glinted with fresh blood of recent appetizers._

“ _Behold the Cyber Mancubus! Enforce of the Third circle of Hell and cannibal psychopath of the Great Steppe!”_

_A lumbering thing, ten feet across; a mass of jiggling blubber and heavy metal tank armour. The beast roared with hunger, slamming together its rocket launcher’s for hands._

“ _Behold Tomas the Engine of Hatred! Who has taken so many lives that it has cemented his place in the Unholy Halls of Super Hell! He was the main General of the Sixty-Ninth Black Crusade and the one true Master of Puppets, twisting your mind and smashing your dreams!”_

_Connie beheld the final fighter and looked confused. “What the fuck? Is that Thomas the Tank engine?”_

“ _No! That’s not Thomas,” said Steven, “That’s a pervert wearing Thomas as a hat!”_

“ _That’s not just a pervert,” Jasper growled, “That guy is a super pervert. Connie, you take him on and watch out for his Horn of Power. By that I mean the erect penis under his cosplay speedo.”_

“ _Now! Anal rape the heretics!” shouted Sister Curbstomp as a lighting bolt struck her crazy plunger of power._

_Jasper reacted first, going into a spin dash. She struck the Cyber Demon and exploited its weakness . . . by attacking its crotch._

_Steven pulled back the sexy loincloth of his slave girl outfit and summoned his bubble. The rockets of the Cyber Mancubus bounced off. Floating into the sky, Steven unleashed a hot stream of piss into the Demon’s mouth. The thing gagged and choked before a single, pale rose exploded from the top of its head._

_Connie charged with equal rage at the eleven foot tall pervert in blue spandex that cored out Thomas the Tank Engine and wore him like a hat. Tomas the Engine of Hatred attempted to kick Connie, but she rolled out of the way._

_Out of the Corner of her eye she could see that Cyber Mancubus badly wounded and using hidden flame throwers in its armour to attack Steven. Jasper as going her spin dash attack against the Cyber Demon’s crotch, causing a fountain of blood to pour out of its scabrous ballsack._

_Dodging another strike from the super pervert, Connie grit her teeth. This was what she lived for._

_Dulvey, Louisiana, One Year Ago_

The ringing of a phone shot through Connie’s head like a morning hangover. “Fuck!” She cried out and smacked the old school telephone. The pain was running through her whole body. From her clit to her crown, everything felt fucked up. Nothing felt right.

It wasn’t just that she’d been nearly blown up by a madwoman who didn’t know how to die. That was a factor but there was something else. Something deep down in her bones felt very, very _wrong._ There was something going on in her body. It felt deep down wrong, soreness, tiredness. Everything was hazy and she moved like she was caught in amber.

It was hard to describe. What does heroine withdrawal feel like? It was not as bad as this. Connie fell off the bed and vomited all over herself. She would have pissed and shit all over herself but she’d already voided her bowels and bladder earlier.

Blood leaked from her eyes and black bile leaked from her nose. Something was running out of her ear and she felt like it could almost be her brains leaking out. One thing and one thing only saved her from her own biology.

The little jar of honey was lying upon the carpet.

Every motion was an act of agony. Her tendons felt like they were felling apart and she wanted to carve off her skin with a knife to get rid of the itching. The three feet across the carpet felt like an eternity. She felt like she were being bitten by a thousand, trillion mosquitoes across every bit of her skin and she felt a fever hot enough to melt iron.

But she got to it, everything was fine.

A single drop of sticky liquid on her tongue and everything went away.

It wasn’t like drug addiction. There was no high, no rush. But she was normal.

And that was better than the roaring, raging, puking hell she’d just endured. Staring down her herself shamefully, she tore off the shirt that was stained with her own sick. Sitting down to catch her breath, she realized that the phone was still ringing.

Picking up the receiver, she put her ear to it and recoiled at the overly shrill female voice on the other end.

“ _Hi there! Hey there! Ho there! Knuckle up Buckeroo! It’s your old buddy, Jojo Fletcher!”_ She shouted shouted like an obnoxious eight year old screeching at Chuckee Cheese. “ _you’re as Welcome as can be and you can suck me right the fuck off! Do you like clowns?”_

“Eat shit and die, you fucking cunt,” Connie snarled back at the Jojo princess.

“ _Oh, why you gotta be such a grump? Hey, I got a little surprise for ya! Turn on the TV in my dumb old brother’s trailer. Why did he have to get a trailer of his own and not me?”_

Grunting, Connie glanced around and spotted a positively ancient CRT television. Worried it may be rigged to explode, she glanced around. This was a very ancient looking RV. Like something that Rob Zombie would have screaming women killed in.

The shag carpet was actually improved by her puke and bile. The walls were covered in peeling fake wood panels and the old sink was covered in rust. Papering over everything, were a number of pictures of rock and roll musicians from the fifties and sixties. Below those were a number of vintage gay porn picture in black and white. From the look of it, Elvis had a thing for white man on black man as well as black man on white man. Full spread butt cheeks and mouth jobs and everything.

A broomstick would do for what she needed. A hissing opossum screeched at her as she knocked over its trash can by accident. “Beat it, you fucking marsupial!” She shouted at the freaky looking mammal.

Turning on the TV as far as she could get away with, she was greeted with a way-way-way too close up of Jojo's face.

The country pervert girl grinned and toyed with one of her pigtails. “ _Hey there! Don’t look so glum! Don’t be a sap! It’s time for smiles and fun!”_

“Fuck you,” Connie snapped at her.

Tittering bird laughter came from Jojo’s end. “ _Aw, come on, cutie. I like Mexican! I can eat Mexican all day! And so can your little friends!”_

The camera shifted and Connie was given front row seats to one of the girls from Space camp. Cindy, dressed up like Harley Quinn from Birds of Prey. Cindy’s eyes rolled with terror, as a ball gag held in her screams of terror. Even without the gag, she was standing on a rusty bucket with a noose around her neck.

Jojo laughed again, “ _Hey, mi Amor, you know where the phrase kick bucket comes from?”_ The crazed girl laughed and her tone turned ugly, “ _Fuck with me and find out.”_

The scales were not in Connie’s favour. She warmed herself with the thought of what she could do when she got to Jojo. Fantasies in her mind played out; ripping out Jojo’s eyes and crushing her skull with a ball peen hammer; slicing her belly open with a rusty knife and strangling her with her own intestines.

The Fletcher child adjust the camera gain, this time showing the girl Mandy, similarly done up in a noose. She had her own little costume; a sexy cheerleader costume.

“ _As you can see, we’re throwing a party and everyone is invited!”_ Jojo proudly trumpeted over the sight of her human prey. “ _I’m holding two girls here and two girls somewhere else. I mean, you failed to save that little Jeff-feller; might as well have some sweet, sweet poonanie to make up for it.”_

Connie wanted to shout at her. Tell her that she couldn’t take Jeff’s name in vain. She held her tongue. Again, she fell back on dark fantasies of giving Jojo a chainsaw enema.

“ _But it’s not just easy as that!”_ Jojo laughed, “ _Ya’ll gotta earn your place at my fine sex party and maybe even become my sweet, sweet kitty. There’s two keys_ _to my ultimate sex party house of sapphic lesbian pleasures._ _Both are hidden, the first clue is hidden in that thar’ fridge behind ya.”_

“Is that it?” Connie grunted.

“ _Nah that ain’t all it. Momma is very angry and she made daddy go to sleep in the greenhouse again. And while I’m here, I’m taking care of my dumb old brother,”_ Jojo adjusted the camera once more. This time greeting Connie with a ghastly new image.

On the blurry CRT footage, Elvis twitched and moaned. The lad had seen better days. Stripped nude, blood leaked out of the oversized, off brand butt plug shoved into his pooper. Clothes pins were turning his nipples purple and his lovely sister has duct taped his mouth shut.

“Brothers, right,” Jojo laughed as she whipped Elvis across the belly with a rubber hose. He struggled against the zip ties holding him onto a homemade torture rack. The rusty rebar rubbed against this skin and made him bleed. “ _They don’t do shit but make a sister’s life miserable. Even before we found Werner and the honey, he was always an annoying fudge packer. He was always mommy’s favorite,”_ She sneered, “ _Mama always wanted me to become a cheerleader and find a man. All because I started a few fires in school. I’m smarter than dumb old Elvis and I’m going to show him what’s good. I’m gonna show him that you don’t take sides against the family.”_

To conclude her speech, Jojo grabbed a large, leather glove covered in razor blades. “ _Now Elvis, now that your B-hole is warmed up, who wants a fisting!”_

The screen went blank. Then the television exploded.

Gasping in pain, Connie blinked and realized that her field of vision was half gone. Normally she’d be horrified by a shard of glass sticking out of her eye but all she could feel was rage.

**POP!**

The glass shard was ripped from her eye. Gushing blood and optic fluid, she splashed a bit of sticky honey onto the wound. Her vision returned as her eyeball dangled onto he cheek. Shoving her eye back into the socket with a wet _Plop!_ She grunted and went to the fridge.

Inside the refrigerator next to some leftover casserole was the severed head of the racist police officer that Mama Fletcher brutalized. Grabbing the greasy and cold head, Connie noticed the piece of paper stuck in the mouth.

“Two keys,” Connie read aloud, dropping the cop’s head like so much pointless trash. “One in the processing room. See if you can be a real woman about it. Second key is in Werner’s house. Have fun, slut.”

Sticking the paper in her pocket, she clenched her hands and grit her teeth. Connie blinked her eye back into place properly.

She took a deep breath.

“Fantasizing is no better than dreaming, mom says,” she looked around the back of the fridge and found a sawed off shotgun behind the hamburger. “Going to make it happen,” she said to herself.

Underneath the old cot was a box of shells under a number of stacks of gay porn. Shoving aside a few empty bottles of lotions and an empty tissue box, Connie found a rusted but serviceable bowie knife; with a convenient little holster for it.

Buttoning the holster to her belt, she threw two shells into the shotgun and closed it with a satisfying click. The pulled back the twin hammers of the sawed off weapon. This definitely wasn't used to hunt animals; but it would be good for hunting the human prey that Connie sought.

Jojo hadn’t killed her when she had the chance. That was a big mistake. No matter what the little psycho tried, she was going to piss all over her parade and going to go shit in her open skull.

Stepping into the muggy Louisiana night she walked past the ghost of the Nazi youth, Werner.

He opened up his stupid little face. He said something.

Connie kept walking.

“Hey!” Werner shouted after her, “Hey! Don’t you ignore me!”

Scowling, Connie kept walking towards the main baker house.

“You can’t ignore me, Fraulein! I’m Werner Von Karstein! I’ll triumph yet!” His voice changed, becoming that an a very old man.

Like a shrieking imp, Connie ignored him. Not because she was going to spare him. His suffering would be long and his dying slow. For now she had bigger fish to fry than one lousy goose stepping blabber mouth.

Kicking open the door to the Fletcher family she shouted aloud, “Honey, I’m home!” and cocked the twin hammers.


End file.
